Overwhelming It Was

It comes together seamlessly, accidentally,  poetry composes the breaths of life. Breaths because vitality, breaths because life, breaths because involuntary. Strife, yes, lust - notice or perhaps sense of void, inhale the sweet taste which tortures the soul with hunger and query. Overwhelming it would be to expose the realm of why, as it relates to poetry, to speak of the addiction to expound upon the delicate crunch of autumn grass, the heartbreak's attritional attacks, the search for self - wedged  between words, lines, commas, cracks. I search for peace as it tears me to pieces, I yearn for understanding as it jeers at my ignorance, I fight for coexistence as it rejects my whole being. Overwhelming as it would be to expose the realm of why, as it relates to poetry, it is juxtaposition, it is corruption, it is confusion, it is the absence of sense. It is a parallel to life.